MGS04

Dystopian Horror: Don't Look Up x Leave the World Behind

A claustrophobic apocalyptic satire.

Originally aired on The Other Stories podcast in April 2020. -2000 words

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MgSO4

by Angelique Fawns

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The news is making me nuts lately...

Iran has nukes and they’re furious at the USA. In fact, they are trying to take back Ukraine. Lethal drone strikes, civilian casualties, and the whole world holds its collective breath. A plane falls out of the sky and conspiracies abound. Was it a missile? Forests are burning from global warming and my social media feeds are full of devastation. Distant but devastating. If I need something closer to home to stress about, last night there was an Amber alert blinking on smartphones saying “an incident has been reported at the Nuclear Power Plant. Remain tuned to local media for further information and instructions.”

Saying my anxiety is acting up would be an understatement. You’d think I was running from a tiger the way the adrenaline races through my system. No sleep, red-rimmed eyes, medusa hair. I’m a thirty-year-old lady going on eighty. My plain beauty transformed to haggard homeliness.

The next morning the government revealed the alert was an “error” but I can’t convince the nervous system to dial it back. The conspiracy theorist part of me thinks it was a set-up by potassium iodide pill companies. KI sales went through the roof right along with twitter outrage.

I’ve always been plagued with panic attacks. Anxiety lurking around the corners of my prefrontal cortex... an unwanted friend, her heavy arm constantly around my shoulder, her fetid breath on my neck. I’d tried meditation, but I was like the proverbial puppy. Every few seconds my brain careened. Holocaust! War! Fire!

An hour ago, it seemed such a wonderful new agey idea. A great way to calm my nerves and settle my brain. It was a new decade and I was adapting a more holistic healthier lifestyle. More yoga and yogurt, less wine and whinging. I’d found the pamphlet on my chiropractor’s waiting room table. He expounded the benefits of it, having tried it himself. Wonderful for relaxing and resetting. Excellent for quelling anxiety.

Or not.

Instead I’m living a nightmare.

The one where you are in the dark and drowning in inky blackness. Open your mouth to scream and nothing comes out. You can’t see anything, you can’t hear anything, you can’t move, and worst of all you are totally…completely… alone.

Except for me, this time, it’s not a dream. I can’t wake up because I am already awake. I’m Ebenezer Scrooge meeting his ghosts. I doubt my senses. Perhaps this is all just a bit of under done potato? Or more likely, too much pizza with the pepperoni stuck in my digestive track. Great globs of cheese translating into visions of horror. Tomato sauce glutting my sensibilities. (I should have had the yogurt instead of pizza.)

I picked up a coupon at my last back cracking appointment for 30 % off your first session and was giving it a try. The clinic was around the corner from the chiro’s, so I walked directly there feeling good and balanced after my adjustment. The city skyline was a sharp outline against the blue sky. The sun glinting off the high-rises made me feel brave.

It was a short walk to the brick building. A converted warehouse in the trendy downtown neighbourhood. Opening the door, I was lured into a false sense of peace. The lighting dim as soothing spa music filtered through the minimally decorated office.

A receptionist with pink hair, non-binary charm bracelet, and a desk plate that said Pat, took my money and had me sign waivers and a medical history form. They stood up, tall and elegant in a lavender pant suit and walked me back through the waiting area down a long brick hall with cathedral ceiling and exposed pipes. Photos of waterfalls and ocean scenes adorned the walls, and a thick carpet silenced our steps.

A thick metal door was at the end of the hall, and Pat opened it to a room with padding on the walls, a white tile floor and a huge pod. The pod looked like an oversized Dutch clog. Except with a wide-open maw. A fissure in my sanity for a moment. I was going to climb into what looked like a hungry European shoe?

“You will be in the isolation tank for one-hour. It is sound-proof, light-proof, and will be pitch black. There’s ten inches of salt water which will create gravity of 1.275. Which means you will feel weightless,” Pat said.

“And if I panic?”

“You won’t. But in the rare case you need to summon me, there is an emergency button in the tank. You can press it and I will come. You also have control over the lighting. We suggest being completely naked for the optimal experience.”

Pat walked out the room shutting the door behind them and the light in the room dimmed until I was alone with the pod and its blue glow. I paused a moment and assessed myself. Pulse seemed fine, breathing regular, only a slight hint of anxiety in my limbic system. Low chance of full meltdown, I was good to go.

Stripping off everything except my panties, (keeping panties on made me feel a little less powerless), I lowered myself into the isolation tank. The water was pleasantly warm and viscous. I turned off the blue lights and allowed my body to splay out in the pod.

Silence.

Darkness.

The only sound I could hear was the pounding of my own heart throbbing in my ears. Was this how infants felt in the womb? Floating in the dark in thick fluid, only a heartbeat’s sound thrumming. I relaxed, and thoughts ebbed and flowed through my brain.

At first I pictured the calm waves of an ocean, the final red rays of a sunset. But the red in the sky. Like the burning wildfires in Australia. Like the flames from a plane careening after being hit by a missile. Like the afterglow of a mushroom cloud.

No. Don’t think of dark thoughts. I tried to regain my sense of peace, that quiet infantile feeling of floating. Count your breath, count each heartbeat. I managed to get control and let the warm fluid tickle my fingers, supporting my buttocks, and cradling my head. Thinking of these things, I started relaxing again. This wasn’t so bad. I lost track of time, and was almost asleep when it happened.

The water around my body gave a trembling lurch. Micro waves of salt water trembling against my skin. My eyes flew open. Then the water stilled. I sat up in the pod and fumbled for the lights. Flicking the switch nothing happened. I remained in the dark.

My eyes bulging out of their sockets, pushing my legs through the salty brine to stand, my fingers desperately flick the switch back and forth on the interior pod lights again. Nothing. The darkness pushes in.

“Is anyone there? Pat? I think I want out!”

Nothing. This is the darkest dark I have ever experienced. Not a hint of light.

“Pat!?”

Of course they can’t hear me. The room is sound proof. Running my hands along the smooth wall of the pod, I find the emergency button. I push it persistently. Ten quick little jabs in a row.

I try to calm down. Like a fish in an inch of water, floundering and splashing. I’m libel to hurt myself. With a deep shuttering breath I lay back down in the water. Pat should be here in seconds. I wait. Counting my breaths, slowing down each one so I am not hyperventilating.

No Pat. Minutes pass and is it my imagination or is the water cooling? Has there been a power loss? Some electrical malfunction at the generation station? I remember losing power in my walk-up apartment when a big transport truck got lost and pulled down a bunch of wires on our residential street.

Knowing it is futile but unable to stop myself, I alternate between stabbing the emergency button and trying to flick on the pods lights. No pod lights. No Pat. How do I get this thing open?

Desperately running my hands around the perimeter, I can’t find a latch, I can’t find a hand hold. True panic washes over me. All those other times I thought I was having a panic attack? Just opening acts. This was the star. The headliner. My throat closed as the scream tried to tear out of me. Intense chest pain. My temples and nostrils flaring as breath rushed faster and faster.

Then nothing. Did I pass out? The water cool around my body. Definitely the power must be out. A shudder passed along my naked skin and goosebumps pimpled my arms. Taking a deep breath I did not let the panic return. I cannot let the panic return. Try the emergency button again. Nothing. Try the light again. Nothing.

Pulling myself to a standing position once again I ran my hands along the side of the pod. Bingo. I found the latch. Hooking my fingers in it, I pull it and the maw of the big shoe opens to a room equally dark. The cool air of the room brings on shivers as I carefully climb of the pod. Rather than fumble for my clothes, I walk in the direction of where I remember the door to be. Drops of salt water from my body make the floor slippery and I take extra care. I don’t need to sprawl in the dark, hitting the floor with a wump. The hold on my sanity feels tenuous right now. But underneath that is pride. Look at me holding it together, not screaming like a banshee and pin balling around the dark room.

One hand hits a metal door and the other a padded wall. Good job. Sliding my right hand around I locate the knob and open the door. Though the hall is dark there is a faint glow at the end of the hall. Blessed wonderful light!

“Pat! Pat! Anyone?”

There is no answer, so I run dripping dressed only in my underwear down the hall. At first my brain can’t comprehend what I am seeing. There is no Pat. Or maybe there is? Is that lump there Pat? They are not at a desk. In fact there is no desk. Or front of the office at all.

A beautiful red glow is in the sky. Beautiful and terrible. The city skyline is not sharp but instead smoldering. High rises are no longer where they should be. Smoke mingles and curls with the red. My ears start to register the sounds, my brain taking its time. Sirens. Screams. Breaking glass. More screams. How wonderful was it back in the big Dutch shoe? The blessed quiet. The placenta salt water. Turning back down the hall, I pad on my bare feet. Back into the padded room. Shutting the door. Climbing back into the maw of the tank. Finding the latch. Pulling it down.

The cool brine holds my weight as I lay back in it letting my hair splay. Taking one deep breath after another. This is where I’ll stay. Until I receive further information and instruction.

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